Chapter Text
“No.”
“Theon -”
“No, all right?”
“Well, it does add up,” Lord Seaworth mutters, and no, Theon is absolutely not even considering this option.
“How does that fucking add up?!” In any other occasion he’d think twice before swearing in front of someone else that’s not Jon, and he barely can do it freely around him, but the current situation is making him forget a lot of things.
Especially, the glowing bow he’s holding in his hands is enough to make him forget a lot of things, period.
Lord Seaworth shrugs. “As far as I recall - and I think I recall well given how many times I had to hear it - that prophecy said… when the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone. And what did she say again, right, there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be Azor Ahai come again, and the darkness shall flee before him. And maybe it’s not a sword, but that bow surely seems glowing to me.”
And it’s hot to the touch, even if to Theon it’s barely warm and anyone who’s tried to hold it has let it fall down because it burned too much.
“Listen, it has to be a coincidence.”
“Doesn’t look like that to me,” Sansa says carefully, her eyes fixed on his bow.
“Well, where did you see red stars bleeding?”
Jon shrugs. “Well, didn’t you see that red comet back when you sailed for Pyke? Everyone I talk to says that all of Westeros saw it. Sounds like a bleeding red star to me.”
“Fine,” Theon admits - and he thought that thing would be his luck. Sure. His luck. “And that’s about the one thing that adds up! I mean, what do you take the cold breath of darkness has to do with me?”
“White Walkers are coming,” Lord Seaworth shrugs. “Seems to me like the cold breath of darkness is covered.”
“Damn - right, very well, and who says I was reborn among salt?”
“Don’t you all have weird ceremonies in the Islands?” Lord Seaworth asks, and Theon is about to tell him that it’s not the point, but -
But damn it.
“Listen,” he says slowly, “fine, when I decided to side with my father I had to be - reborn in the name of the Drowned God or something and in order to do it a priest lets sea water fall upon your forehead, right, but that’s not -”
“Sounds fairly plausible to me,” Jon shrugs. “And - er, I wouldn’t - I mean, you said - didn’t you really think you were, you know, that thing Ramsay named you for at some point? Because - well, if now you’re yourself again the whole dying and being reborn part of that prophecy would fit.”
Theon can’t bloody believe his own ears. “No. No, there’s just no bloody way. And anyway if it was supposed to go like in the original story, I remember that there was an entire part about sacrificing the man’s beloved or something -”
“Nissa Nissa,” Sansa supplies. Of course she would remember that.
“Right, thank you, and when did I drive a sword through my beloved’s heart? Because I don’t remember that happening, do -” He doesn’t finish because the moment he looks at the three other people in the room they avert their eyes and admittedly do not look at him.
What in the seven hells are they even thinking about, Theon ponders for a moment, but then -
“No.”
“Theon, really -”
“No. Just no. I can’t - that’s not - there’s no bloody way in hell that it’s him.”
“It’s fine,” Sansa says, slowly. “Really, it is, we thought it was - I mean, no one is mad at you for that anymore. We can just say it.”
“No.”
“Theon -”
“No. I refuse to accept that I took the worst decision of my entire life because of a prophecy, all right? I refuse. No way. I’m not a mythical hero, this entire thing is some kind of mistake and Robb is not - that. All right? He’s not. Seven hells, someone in this room literally came back to life and you’re telling me that I am the one who died and was reborn? The bow came from him anyway!”
“Well, yes,” Jon admits, “but it never glowed when I had it. Or when Ygritte had it. I fear it’s not me.”
“No. Please don’t even try to imply it. I’m not - I’m not, and I refuse to hear otherwise.”
Jon shrugs, then looks at the other two. He goes next to Sansa and whispers something - she nods, they talk a bit to Lord Seaworth and then he leaves with Sansa. Jon stays, though.
“Jon, if you’re about to convince me -”
“Listen, believe me, I understand how you feel because from what Melisandre said it sounded like it had to be me and I was not - I didn’t want it, either. Now, I will not lie and say that I’m not relieved that it’s not me -”
“Jon -”
“But I - I understand it, all right?”
“It’s not that I don’t want it,” Theon sighs, putting the bow against the wall and breathing in - he really doesn’t want to be looking at it right now. “It’s that there is no way that it’s me.”
“And why’s that?”
“Jon, for - look at me. I am not - heroes are for songs. Life is not a bloody songs. And in no song I would be the hero. Are you even serious?”
Jon just looks at him. “Theon -”
“Jon, if that is true then it means everything I did happened because it had to, and I cannot accept it. All right? I cannot. If it was me then I can just blame myself, if it was something else -” He doesn’t even finish the sentence because he knows he’d break down in tears if he did, but then Jon moves closer - his fingers wrap around Theon’s and he doesn’t look at how more ruined his own look in comparison to Jon’s, even if they’re also rough and covered in scars.
“So maybe it was meant to be. You don’t have to like it. No one has to like it. I don’t like it. But I think that you should stop thinking it couldn’t be you.”
“Jon -”
“You made mistakes, and you betrayed Robb, it’s true, but he also took his own bad decisions and we all know that. I don’t blame him for it and given what you did to make up for it, it’s useless to blame you now. You survived something I can’t even imagine surviving and you’re still here trying to make up for it, I think it says a lot about what kind of person you really are.”
“Jon, I’m not -”
“There’s nothing wrong if you are,” Jon interrupts, one of his hands moving up to Theon’s face.
“I think there is,” Theon sighs, not trying to get away from it.
“I don’t. No one whose opinion matters around here does. Just know that, all right?”
Theon isn’t sure he does, but his fingers grip tighter around Jon’s and he doesn’t know what happens now, but at least this isn’t changing, and for now it’s enough.
End.